


Ellipsis

by Melusine10



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, But pretty canon angst, Episode: s02e09 Shiizakana, Episode: s02e10 Naka-Choko, Episode: s02e11 Ko No Mono, Fluff and Smut, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannibal is very persuasive, M/M, Slow Burn, Will "master of indecision" Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9493079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melusine10/pseuds/Melusine10
Summary: Will Graham has just killed Randall Tier and is driving to Dr. Lecter's house. He is struggling to figure out who he's allied with - his boss or his psychiatrist. Ultimately, when he arrives in Baltimore, Hannibal is more than a little persuasive. The story takes place during the events of the Shiizakana, Naka-Choko, and Ko No Mono episodes of Season 2. It is composed of a series of intimate scenes not seen on the show, that occur in between takes, which give a very different explanation for just what was happening between Will and Hannibal.





	1. Doubt

_The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom - William Blake_

  
Will Graham emerged from his battle with Randall Tier victorious. His west-facing window was smashed in and there was damning evidence all over his living room floor and his clothes. The entire scene should have dismantled his calm. It should have shredded the last bit of sanity he possessed. But Graham knew how to replace a window and, better than virtually anyone, he understood how to wipe a crime scene. These were easy solutions. What he didn’t know how to do was deal efficiently and expertly with a dead body. He certainly knew someone who did.

In his time with the FBI, Will had caught every single person who had tried to conceal their crimes save for one man. It was the same seductive monster who had sent him the wretch presently staining the area rug. That horrifying creature, inhuman and inescapable, had encouraged one of his protégés to attempt to kill Will in his own home.

Tier had been a boy influenced into a red haze by none other than Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Will’s not-quite-official-psychiatrist, sole friend, and easily the most prolific serial killer of this century. Hannibal had toyed with Tier as he toyed with anyone that amused him. Then he fed the boy to Graham’s own wrathful hands in order to awaken the suppressed bloodlust hidden within them.

Randall Tier smashing through his living room on a snowy Tuesday evening should have been the final transgression between he and Hannibal. It truly should have been. Literally no one should have to even utter words as ridiculous as “and then my psychiatrist sent a kid in a pneumatic tiger killing machine suit to come murder me.” Yet this was Graham’s life. He loathed it. He couldn’t stop it. And a dark, secret part of him _loved it_.

The fight had been exhilarating. It had been thrilling to thrash a rival of Hannibal’s attentions. It stirred up many emotions and left him exceptionally confused. Tier’s unexpected visit felt as much a test from Hannibal as it did an exquisite gift from him. Most likely the ‘good doctor’ was simply playing, curious to see which of his attempts at influencing others would prove superior. Will Graham was dangerously close to delighting in the fact that _he_ had won. Quite easily, in fact.

He was losing focus. Wavering on a knife’s edge.

He wanted to see the glint of Hannibal’s pride shimmer in those liquid amber eyes when he saw his equal emerge, radiant and bloodied. Will wanted the Lithuanian’s mysterious smile to grow wide and toothy, showing vicious mirth and recognition which he granted no one else. Will also yearned to deal Hannibal an extraordinarily violent reckoning. Will wished it was Dr. Lecter’s blood streaming down his hands rather than Tier’s. Hannibal had thrown him into the pit once again, endangering not only him, but this time his dogs and the sanctity of his home. And yet still…He needed to show Hannibal the splatters of Tier’s lifeblood on his knuckles and the carnage he had wrought on the demented boy. He had done it with nothing more than rage and his fists.

It made no sense.

Will had enough self-awareness to understand this was about needing to revel in his own euphoric vengeance. He understood that he wanted to be seen doing it. That much was clear. He was just forgetting who that vengeance was supposed to be aimed at and who was supposed to be celebrating it alongside him. Was he catching a killer for Jack Crawford or becoming one with Hannibal Lecter? His plans with Jack and his plans with Hannibal lived in alternate universes, coexisting and completely irreconcilable. He could only make out the pale contours of his wavering design.

So Will did what he always did when he was unsure of himself. He packed his trunk – lined carefully with plastic sheeting from the barn – and began the long drive to Baltimore to see the one person who could give him reassurance. The one person who had filled his life with more deadly chaos than he could comprehend and still managed to soothe every ache he possessed.

What came from Hannibal must always return to Hannibal, it seemed. Theirs was a dance and a duel. An ellipsis of desire and destruction, interrupted only in the final seconds before it went too far.

This _really_ should be the moment Will conceded that their game was over. He just…couldn’t accept that it had to end.

 

<> 

 

His bloodied hands knew the route to Hannibal’s far too well. Will thought of the Devil as he made the automatic turns along the beltway. As a child, his dad had impulsively dumped him off at random churches for Sunday school sometimes when he needed a break from single fatherhood. It was an impromptu and unconvincing religious instruction, but some of it he recalled well. Lucifer fell from Heaven because he blinked. He had doubted God’s plan.

Will was filled with doubt about the plans for which Jack and Hannibal had simultaneously recruited him. Like the Devil, he too questioned the imperfection of humans. There were flaws everywhere Will looked. After all, as a Special Agent in the FBI, he forced himself to stare into the horrors of humanity and empathize with them every day. He was too well acquainted with the worst of human nature. It was Will’s specialty, after all. Lucifer had dared to ask how so much ugliness could be divine. With a corpse in the trunk, the fallen archangel’s concerns didn’t seem so far off. Graham was transporting a dead serial murderer whom he had just murdered because of - and maybe for - another serial murderer. This was real. He was Will Graham, it was 10:18pm, and this shit was actually happening.

If God cast out his archangel for doubting his plans, which of the men who held so much power over him would cast him out? Whom could he bear failing more – and how hard would he fall?

As he crossed the Potomac River, tungsten bridge lights flickered in orange beats across his dashboard. Will tried to count up how many times he’d killed now. In the FBI protocols he himself had helped to write, this very likely qualified him as a serial killer too. Two unrelated deaths in self-defense or in the line of duty were more or less freebies. A third would create a pattern. No one, not even he, would dismiss that fine line between two and three kills.

Fuck.

The first stretch of I-495 in Maryland was dark, and for that he was grateful. Will allowed himself to wander into the bleakest hallways of his mind. He had priors no one knew about. They were in files buried in Louisiana, the indictments sealed and his record expunged by the courts. He'd been a minor and he was convicted only on circumstantial evidence. After Hurricane Katrina, he wasn’t even sure they still existed. Those papers might have been washed away in the floods. They might have been digitized before the storm and lived on in some data bank. He simply didn’t know. The mere memory filled his stomach with panic.

The government was routinely lazy, sending out underpaid young agents to conduct security clearances for new hires. He’d blown his psych eval, of course, but if someone really grew curious, say someone like Jack, and started poking around, he would be royally fucked. Post-9/11, the FBI had unprecedented jurisdiction. They could unopen any court document or request any data. He knew. He’d done it many times. They could easily uncover his juvenile idiocies if those records were still floating out there. They were the stupid mistakes of a gullible kid trying desperately to fit in, and every protocol he had crafted marked his numerous underage arrests as _serious red flags_. Combined with his more recent activities, Will would be right back to the dungeons of the BSHCI - this time for good. Or worse, he could be sent to federal prison where pretty little things like him did not tend to last long. His dogs would be sent to the pound and those equally unwanted animals wouldn’t last long either.

He took the exit which would put him on the fastest route to Chandler Square and made sure to stay under the speed limit.

 Will was supposed to be the clever fisherman, luring Hannibal to his line, bringing him out of the shadows to end his oeuvre of gory art. Yet Jack’s motives were patently impure. A sour lump of rage swelled in his throat at the reminder that he worked for people who only wanted access to his unique gift. If they could have it without having to deal with him, they would do so gladly. The Behavioral Analysis Unit used him like a show pony and in spite of their seeming expertise on the subject of human behavior, not a single agent there could understand him.

Hannibal could. He saw through him with serpent eyes that enchanted. He whispered to the buried secrets of Will’s own heart with his silvered tongue, coaxing out the demons. And now Will was transporting a corpse across state lines. For him. To him. Because of him.


	2. Persuasion

_by being moved I exert my empire,_  
_making the dreams of night real:_  
_into my body at the bottom of the water_  
_I attract the beyonds of mirrors..._

_-Rilke_

 

On the stoop of Hannibal’s grandiose home, Will rang the bell and waited. Hannibal’s Bentley wasn’t in the driveway, but it seemed like the appropriate gesture. He’d never seen maids or housekeepers here and he seriously doubted Hannibal would take the risk of that particular extravagance, given his proclivities. But better to be certain. No one came to answer and the foyer inside was dark.

Will knew there wasn’t an alarm system. He’d noticed the lack of a security panel and sensors the first time he had come over. The apex predator felt absolutely no need to secure his home in one of the most crime-riddled cities in the country. Will had already once used the spare key Hannibal had given him, ostensibly to kill the son of a bitch. Afterwards, Hannibal had not asked for it back, nor had Will demanded he return the key to his Wolf Trap home. This was part of their game. A dare. A line drawn in the sand, each player waiting to see who moved first and how.

Before he had been arrested, Bev and the boys in the lab used to tease him. “What is it with you and Hannibal, Will? It’s like you’re trying to figure out if he’s a ‘fuck, kill, or marry,’” she had said. It was a crude joke at his expense, but she was right about their mutual obsession. And then she got caught in the crosshairs of their game and she died for it. Anger flared in Will's chest once more. He was going to catch this psychopath and put him away forever - not to save lives, not for the dead who were beyond saving, and not for Jack fucking Crawford. He was going to do it for himself.

The heavy mahogany door swung open. He strolled in with a sense of satisfaction. Violating Hannibal’s private space always felt right considering how often he had violated his own.

Inside Hannibal’s ridiculous theatre of a domicile, he allowed himself a bit of freedom. Will pinched a fat bunch of basil off the herb wall in the dining room and munched on it. He tipped a painting slightly askew as he wound his way to the back patio, simply because it would annoy the man and please him all at once. Will had parked in the alley. It was a better spot for this kind of delivery.

Randall Tier hit Hannibal’s tiger maple dining table with a dull thud. Displaying him with such vulgarity gave Will a rush of pleasure. There would be no flickering candlelight or peacock centerpieces or fussy plating. He wanted to show Hannibal that he understood what he truly was.  The thought of his reaction sang through his bones. He waited, staring at the lifeless being.

It was only then that Will realized that the winter coat he had grabbed in haste was the designer overcoat Hannibal had given him last Christmas. It was an outrageously expensive gift, and the clever jerk popped the tags off the thing to prevent Will from trying to return it. Will's gift was simple, but meaningful. He had given Hannibal a box of fishing ties and a card that read: “So you don’t have to break into my house the next time you frame me for murder. Petty larceny, Hannibal? Not your best work. Fondly, Will.” Hannibal laughed more that evening than Will had ever seen.

Hannibal's response was genuine. “I will cherish having something so beautiful made by your hands, especially knowing all the ways you’d like to use them. Thank you.”

Will got a little sheepish. “They’re all mine except that green one. That one…that was my father’s.” Hannibal stared at Will for a long moment and simply nodded. Will thought he might have been a little misty eyed. The set was promptly mounted in a shadow box and displayed prominently on the fireplace mantle in Hannibal’s office.

Will heard the car pull up and the sudden halt of footsteps in the entryway. Hannibal probably already smelled his intruders, bloodhound that he was. Within seconds he peeled back the dining room pocket doors. He took in the scene calmly and turned to close them, as if he thought he could hide the rush of pleasure in his cheeks. Will’s quick mind spotted the tiny twitch of his lips and pink in his cheeks immediately.

“Did you kill him with your hands?”

“It was…intimate,” Will admitted.

“It deserves intimacy. You were Randall Tier’s final enemy.”

Hannibal cocked his head and inspected Will’s handiwork, prowling leisurely over to Will. He took up one of Will’s battered hands in his. Their eyes met and Hannibal’s meaning was patently clear. He wasn’t talking about Tier. This was to be a celebration between the two of them. Hannibal struck with deadly accuracy at the part of Will that wanted  -craved -this profound understanding and mutual recognition. And Hannibal clearly intended to reciprocate. The warm feel of Hannibal’s smooth surgeon’s hands around his threw whatever unformed ideas he harbored about reckonings and righteous vengeance right out the window. 

The doctor spent half an hour painstakingly soaking and disinfecting and daubing the blood off his knuckles. It was excessively attentive. He did it in one of his Le Creuset stoneware dishes.  Will hoped that it was simply a convenient vessel. He knew it was not.

“Don’t go inside, Will. Stay with me.” The invitation rang in his ears.

“Where else would I go?”

Hannibal’s touch, as ever, was economical and gentle. But there was far more in it than a doctor’s clinical touch. It was admiration and affection. Caresses and praises and care. It was really fucking nice to be cared for, for once. All this passed in silent glances. Once Will’s hands had been bandaged, Hannibal noticed a few stray dots of crimson spray Will had foolishly missed when he’d showered. Rookie mistake. He carefully daubed his forehead and neck too with the same tender attention.

"Have you been grazing in the herb garden, Will? Dark opal basil, I believe?" Hannibal said, amused.

Will only response was a mischievous smirk.

Will had never been so close to the man’s face to take in all its details. Small scars, tiny pores, age lines – all of which somehow enhanced the absurdly perfect architecture of his European features. For some reason Will found himself smiling and Hannibal kept smiling back.

“Thank you,” Will whispered.

 

<> 

 

"What do I do with Tier? I figured this is more your area of expertise." Will said.

"Put him back in your trunk. He'll keep overnight in this weather. Think about how you would like to honor him."

"You mean a tableau."

"Let your ideas marinate over night. You've had a long day. I'd very much prefer that you stay here rather than make the hour drive again so late. In any event, you may wish to be closer to the city for your work tomorrow."

Will had never intentionally stayed at Hannibal's home. Once he'd gotten way too drunk at dinner and ended up asleep on the couch  until 4am. This was different.

"Um. Yeah. If you think the car will be okay outside. No one will bother it?"

"It will be fine."

Hannibal did not touch the corpse, nor did he offer to help get him outside. It was as if he viewed the kill as another predator's territory. Will sort of got it and all, but Christ he actually needed a hand. Schlepping the damn kid all over the place promised to do a number on Will's wrecked shoulder. It was already throbbing from the fight.

By the time he slammed the trunk gate down and came inside, Hannibal had sterilized his table. It looked impeccable. 

“Do you want me to check it with Luminol and the light? The kit is in the car.”

“No need,” Hannibal replied and offered no further explanation. "Come this way, then."

Hannibal beckoned Will to the stairway and he followed him up to the second floor. An impressive display of authentic samurai armor greeted him as they entered his most private space.

Will had never been upstairs. This was certainly the first time entering Hannibal's bedroom.

“And here I thought you couldn’t possibly have more armor between yourself and the world,” Will quipped. He was nervous.

Hannibal glanced back and gave a tiny, knowing, half smile. “Give me just a moment to find something in here that will fit you tolerably well.” He disappeared into a massive walk-in closet. Will fidgeted just inside the door.

“Your help is greatly appreciated, Dr. Lecter, but I swear if your pajamas have windowpane plaid too, I’m going to organize an intervention.”

He heard a chuckle from deep inside the closet.

While Hannibal fussed through the vast collection of clothing he possessed, Will’s curiosity overtook him. He wandered across the room to take in this man’s lair – all rich fabrics in deep greys and blues, varying in texture. The desk bore carefully arranged books and intriguing artefacts. His fingers wandered over everything. It was a terrible habit, but the tactile both grounded him and enhanced his empathetic insight.

Will’s attention was quickly drawn to the paintings framing either side of the large bed.

“Ukiyo-e woodblock prints,” Hannibal supplied, re-emerging with several hangers draped over his arm. “From the Edo period.”

Will drew closer to inspect them. Hannibal’s taste in art never ceased to amaze him. Bold, confrontational, and if you understood who the beast beneath the Italian wool was, usually quite openly confessional.

“They are known as _shunga_ ,” Hannibal continued. “A rather entrancing tradition in Japan.”

These were no charming domestic scenes. No delicate arching cranes or heaving seas. Every panel depicted an explicit sexual act. Lovers of every type in various configurations. A man taking a geisha from behind. Two women with their skirts hiked, grinding in a bath house. Two young men making love on a mat.

“Most people keep their porn in a box under their bed, not hung openly on their bedroom and dining room walls.”

Hannibal materialized silently behind him, so close Will could smell his heady cologne.

“Does the eroticism of bodies in pleasure disturb you, Will?”

“No,” he said, a little too defensively.

“I should hope not, considering this evening’s experience.”

“That wasn’t…I didn’t find fighting Tier…arousing. Not like that.”

“You assume I was speaking of Tier.”

Will blushed outright.

Hannibal laid out several options on the bed. A few t-shirts and flannel pants and a silk pajama set in dark crimson. “These are unfortunately a bit dated, but I had a slimmer build when I was younger.”

Will couldn’t get the woodblock prints out of his mind. “Are the pictures for your amusement or for those you entertain in here?”

“They were a gift. Now they are just a memory.”

Will turned back to them to study their fine quality. “Which is your favorite?” he asked absenmindedly. Then without quite meaning to, he let the pendulum swing once, then twice, and his sight expanded. Hannibal watched Will slip into his extraordinary power. So rarely did he get to witness him perform this act.

“Oh, oh. I see. None of these things come from a gallery or a store. You have an unconventional connection to Japan. A highborn family who left their homeland. These are inheritances. You keep them the closest to you, framing your dreams at night. They are not for display. There’s no favorite. They are all favored. It’s all you have left. Beloved mementos.” Will shivered and shook himself out of his vision. He kept his back turned to Hannibal. It was too difficult to make eye contact and ask.

“Who was she?”

Hannibal put his hands on Will’s shoulders and gave a soft squeeze. Then he leaned in and breathed his confession into the shell of his ear. The deep lilt of his voice and the almost touch of his lips made him shiver. “My aunt – by marriage, obviously.”

“Your lover,” Will said in shock.

“Briefly. A confidante and the only protection a young man had from the world.”

“But…Do you still…”

“Careful. You’re starting to sound jealous, dear boy.”

Will spun around at the accusation. Hannibal looked far too pleased and took the flagrant liberty of tugging and bouncing one of his curls. Will failed to find words.

And just as breezily, as though Hannibal hadn't just openly flirted with him, he carried on. “The guest suite is down the hall to the left. I’ll make a little midnight snack while you change. You must be famished.”

“Hannibal…” Will said in warning, drawling out each syllable. He had better not make use of that damn Le Creuset full of his blood on the counter, or some other god damn thing that shared the same number of chromosomes as him.

“Nothing complicated. We can discuss your plan for the wild game you brought home later.”

Will bit his lip and shook his head. “Fine. Behave yourself down in the kitchen.”

"I do actually understand the meaning of restraint, Agent Graham. I just often choose not to deploy it." Hannibal winked and disappeared back into his closet.


	3. Enticement

_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_  
_in secret, between the shadow and the soul._

_-Neruda_

 

When Will emerged downstairs, Hannibal had also changed into pajamas and a robe. Will couldn’t explain why he’d chosen the red silk to wear. Perhaps because he had never owned anything like it. Hannibal looked Will up and down.

“If you would be so kind to start a fire in the den, I’ll be in shortly. Help yourself to the whisky on the side table.”

Will built up the fire and Hannibal breezed in holding a tray piled with gourmet cheeses, dates, nuts, and fruits. To his surprise, Hannibal chose the velvet couch nearest the fireplace rather than the parlor table. Even more surprising, he actually curled up, bare feet tucked under himself. He still managed to make it look elegant.

“Come join,” he said and patted next to him. They ate lazily, putting a sizeable dent in what was an excessive amount of food. When they were done, they sat in companionable silence, content to sip their whiskey and watch the fire dance.

“You live well,” Will finally said.

“What would you change here? Not enough yard for seven dogs perhaps?”

“Yeah.”

“What else?”

“It's a tough question. No one else sees this space through my strange mind. I see the trappings of someone concealing himself. This house is a façade, an elegant sleight of hand to distract others. All your acquaintances see is the glamour and privileges of old World wealth. They want to sidle up to it and pretend that that heritage might just be theirs too. They don’t even notice all the obscure little inside jokes you tuck here and there to mock them. The art that reveals your appetites outright and yet is completely ignored. I think the only painting you own that doesn’t feature death or gore or something scandalous is that little Papillon dog in the kitchen.”

“I assumed you liked it. I often catch you admiring it when I’m cooking. You can have it.”

“Oh Hannibal, I can’t accept that. Something’s got to keep some semblance of balance in your collection and it sure ain’t going to be Leda and her pervert swan.”

Hannibal snickered into his glass.

“I like the dog, but my favorite is in your dining room.”

“Ah. The lithograph of 'Much Ado About Nothing' that you so cheekily tipped askew today.”

“I’m happy you noticed. With an inscription no less of the line “O villain! Though wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for this.’ Condemned to everlasting redemption! Hanging directly over where you lord over your unsuspecting flock of admirers - serving them up one of their own sheep. You actually have a pretty funny sense of humor, you know.”

“Thank you, I’m glad you appreciate my playful little jokes. Will, humans have decorated themselves and shaped their dwellings since time immemorial. You have your comforting home too, and everything about it is Will Graham. But the country life you’ve chosen to avoid social contact and the baggy clothes and fake glasses you hide behind don’t conceal you. Not from me.”

“What am I hiding?”

Hannibal smiled deeply. “Your extraordinary beauty. Your uniqueness.” Hannibal lightly stroked Will’s knee, then he looked away. "You don't want them to see you either." Will was stunned and swallowed thickly. The room suddenly felt much too hot and dim.

“Patients with intimacy problems and sexual issues,” Hannibal continued, “they are a dime a dozen. They make for terribly banal work and I usually won’t take them as clients.”

“It wasn't aware my sex life was a point worth discussing. You’ve never brought it up in session.”

“Neither did you. And this isn’t session.”

“I should hope not. Two grown killers having a pajama party in the small hours of the night chattering away like hens and drinking an unadvisable amount of liquor? That would be too unorthodox a treatment technique, even for you.

“I’m simply offering an observation. I’ve upset you this evening with some of my words.”

“No…not upset.”

“Will, look at me. The natural drive we have for connection, in most pathological cases, can be improved from within a patient through therapy. But you have an entirely different problem with intimacy, don’t you? The issue is not what is inside. You’re not broken. It is everyone beyond you, no?”

Will licked his lips. “Can’t fix empathy,” he admitted in a small voice.

“Tell me.”

“Empathizing with the dead is easy. Looking at crime and blood and violence is easy. It has no emotion anymore.”

“I imagine when you look at the living, looking at a friend, or maybe having young girls and boys try to get your number, even a colleague, and your murderers in your visions, their desire, fear, disdain, joy – all of it - becomes yours.”

Will nodded and sighed. “There’s no way to know if my reaction and feelings for another are mine or theirs. I have never been able to have someone very long in my life before it creates a major issue and there’s the inevitable blow up and tears and doors slamming.”

“Like your rather unfortunate encounter with Alana.”

“You mean my epic failure with Alana. Don’t rub it in. I had always liked her. When she came to me with sympathy, support, and comfort, I completely misread her intentions when they became tangled with mine. But longer term stuff is what’s basically impossible.”

“Why so?”

“When I was 20, in school, I was living with a girlfriend and I would know immediately when she lied. Lied about stupid things like buying toilet paper. Lied about serious things like whether I was making her happy. I started lying too, compulsively. To her. To myself. I couldn’t bear to even touch her because I internalized her rejection of me. I came home one day and could see she held no love for me at all. She hated me. And so I hated myself and blamed myself for all her neurotic shit. The emotional wires got crossed in my head and I felt disgust when I owed her kindness and a graceful exit. I said things that I later regretted before I walked out on her. I heard she dropped out of school a semester later.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. She clearly did not deserve you. Women are socially licensed to express their emotions more freely, while conventional masculinity is supposed to bottle it up.”

“Yeah, but guys are allowed to express lust and covetousness and aggression. That didn’t work out either.”

Hannibal’s astonishment showed only as a blink. “Not if they’re taught to conduct themselves respectfully. I do hope you weren’t taken advantage of in the course of your explorations.”

“No, just kind of non-stop emotionless fucking that left me feeling miserable and used.”

“Hmmm. A parody of intimacy then.”

“I can’t trust my feelings because they are very often not mine. My empathy disorder has mislead me into hurting people. I’ve done reckless things, sometimes dangerous things that later fill me with guilt.”

Hannibal leaned back in thought. “I have been a bachelor my whole life. Had affairs now and again when it suited me. I never had the urge to share my private life with someone else. I haven’t shared my space with another for any considerable time since I was a boy. Beyond my parties, I’m alone here.”

“Well, maybe if you dialed back on the crazy horn décor you’d stop frightening people off. Five horns in every single room of this mansion, Hannibal? It is overkill. Pun intended. What, do you like buy them in bulk?”

“What, pray, would you suggest?”

“Limit it to one in each room and ditch the rest.”

“Why leave just one?”

“So I’ll always be reminded that you may actually be the Devil.”

Hannibal smiled slyly. “But I haven’t even offered you a Devil’s bargain yet.”

“A moratorium on trying to kill each other might be nice.” He sighs deeply. “So why are you asking me for decorating advice? As you so diplomatically pointed out, I have zero fashion sense and live in a shitheap of dogs and motors in the middle of nowhere.”

“Because I want you be more comfortable here. I like you in my spaces. I like sharing them with you. That is a rather new sensation for me.”

Will furrowed his brow in confusion and set his glass between his legs.

“Let me ask you something and answer me honestly. At any point in the time we’ve known each other, in spite of everything that has transpired, have you ever felt your emotional wires get crossed with mine? Feel that you couldn’t distinguish what you felt from my sentiments?

“N…no, actually. I don’t think so. I sense them, read them – when you let me. Not much gets through your shields. They don’t invade like others. It’s…nice. A respite from everyone else’s sentimental cacophony. It’s your words and deeds that I have to watch out for.”

“Yes. We are rather two sides of the same coin. I find our conversations to be singularly engaging. Do you ever find yourself anticipating them?”

“Yes. The hours leading up to an appointment sometimes tend to drag. Sometimes the whole week seems like it hasn’t happened until I’m sitting across from you in your office.”

“When your chair is empty, its emptiness is sometimes deafening. I’m glad you came here tonight.”

“I can come for more sessions, if you want.”

Hannibal shook his head.

 

He struggled with words for a moment. It was so unlike himself to hesitate. He inhaled deeply and set his hand gently over Will’s arm on the couch.

“Stay with me sometimes.”

 

In that moment, time slowed to a stop. Then in the next second, Will was hit with its entire force. “You mean here? Again, after tonight?”

“Yes, although you needn’t bring a whole corpse on every occasion.”

Will’s heart was racing. “What..what are you asking?

“Here’s your Devil’s bargain, since you seemed to want one. We’ve already given each other enough violence. Let’s try something different. Stay with me in whatever way you feel comfortable, when it suits you, and let us enjoy the intimacy of each other’s companionship. It could be as simple as sharing a meal, cooking, gardening. Having a nightcap as we are now. More, if that interests you. In turn, you must agree to take a 6 month sabbatical and let me take you to Europe. Be warned, you may not want to leave.”

Will got up and filled his glass again. He downed it in three gulps and went back to steady himself on the couch.

“How’s Alana going to feel about that, Hannibal? That’s not very nice to her.”

“It’s been a brief affair based entirely on grieving you. Funereal. It’s time has come to an end.”

Will ran his hands through his hair. “You are telling me that you are dumping Alana.”

“'Dumping' might be a bit extreme given how casual I’ve kept it, but yes.”

“What you're suggesting doesn't sound very casual. It sounds...intense. You want me to come over to your house whenever I feel like it, keep messing with your decorations, eat your delicious cooking, read your rare books, drink your booze, wear your designer pajamas, and maybe sleep with you?”

“You left out the European Tour.”

“Oh right, that about covers it then. Right.”

Hannibal gave him a patient smile.

Will was shaking his head, stunned.

“Which of those things in that list is most important to you?”

“Only Europe is non-negotiable. I’d like to begin arrangements soon.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Hannibal. I kill a guy that you encouraged to murder me and now you are asking me to have some weird platonic-romantic relationship with you.”

“Dear boy, boundaries are either there, or they aren’t. We’ve crossed quite a few together. Why not cross a few more, if we like? Haven’t these last few hours eating and talking been exceptionally pleasant? Don’t we always enjoy each other’s company when it would seem no one else can be so fulfilling?”

“You’re basically proposing to be my sugar daddy. That’s what they’ll say.”

Hannibal licked his lips cocked his head. “But it is how you respond to such an accusation that matters.”

“Is that want you want from me? To tell people I’m your pet? Your boy toy?”

“No. I simply want you to say yes.”

 

Without warning, Will burst into tears. Not crocodile tears. Big fat rolling ones that made it down to his throat and made black dots on his crimson nightshirt. He tried to cover his eyes with the back of his hand to stem the tide but it was pointless.

“Will…Will, širdelė, mylimasis…Come here.” Hannibal wrapped his arm around Will’s shoulder and brought him to his side. “What has you so distraught?”

“Why would you even want that. With someone like me. I have nothing to offer.”

“I already told you. You are unique and extraordinarily beautiful. Everything I know about you makes me hope for more of your companionship, whatever that might be.” Hannibal was rubbing Will’s back, pulling his head to his shoulder. He nuzzled Will’s curls, inhaling their sweet smell.

 “It’s a trick. Another manipulation.” Will snuffled gracelessly.

“Look at me. Really look. I never lie.”

“No, you omit.”

“I am only omitting the fact that I have wanted this for some time. It would be an embarrassment to say more if you were to refuse.”

“And it would be an even greater embarrassment to me if this was only to get the FBI off your back. Since when. Tell me.”

Hannibal pursed his lips and stiffened. “Perhaps the notion was like a snowball, slowing gathering and growing, crushing pathways in mountains I’d sworn not to tread. It has been every day, mongoose, since we first met.”

Will swallowed thickly. “You brought me protein scramble. Soup. You’ve cared for my health and my mind.”

“Cared for, yes, and cared about.”

“You’ve also pushed me into hard places.”

“As have you.”

Will sighed and laid his head down on Hannibal’s leg. The heat of his firm thigh warmed his cheeks and Hannibal softly combed through those disheveled curls he’d so longed to touch.

“Jack’s going flip his shit when he finds out,” Will said and yawned through a laugh. "And I am so not paying you to be my psychiatrist anymore."

“Then that’s a yes?”

“Yes, Hannibal.”

They stayed there like that, silent and oddly satisfied, watching the fire burn down into embers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so this got longer than I expected. There will be at least one more chapter. Maybe two. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please comment. I really like to hear feedback.
> 
> And come tumbl with me at katamaran10.tumblr.com


	4. Seduction

 

_Then love is sin, and let me sinful be._

_-Sir Philip Sidney_

 

 

A gentle nudge woke Will. He had dozed off to the soft rhythm of Hannibal running his fingers through his hair and the gentle popping of the dying fire.

“Best not to sleep on the couch again.” Hannibal said quietly. “Come, let’s put you to bed.”

Will sat up. The den was dark save for the smallest glow still coming from the fireplace and two oblique, pale corridors of moonlight filtering through the windows.

“Mmm. Sorry. I hope your legs didn’t fall asleep.”

Hannibal rousted Will off the couch and, still holding his hand, led him upstairs to the guest bedroom.

“Wake me if you need anything. I’m a light sleeper.”

Will started to lean forward and reach out, still half caught in a dream. He had met a ravenstag in a dark wood. He had dreamt that the magnificent creature had finally come close enough to let him touch it. Running his hand over its long arched neck and through the feathers of its flank had thrilled and enthralled him. The ravenstag had looked back at him and tossed his head in a low breathy whicker. An acknowledgement. In the dream.

Will caught himself, hand in midair, realizing he had no idea what he was about to do. “Yeah, um, goodnight.”

Hannibal squeezed his bicep and let the touch run down the length of his arm. “Goodnight, Will. _Saldžių sapnų_. Sleep well.”

 

Will sunk into the four poster bed and almost moaned it felt so good. The sateen sheets against the silk on his skin and the plushness of the mattress were sinful. He was nearly asleep when his mind started spinning.

_What the fuck are you doing, Graham? You can’t trust this man. He murders for the sheer aesthetics of it. The second you lay eyes on him you get caught up in his beguiling ways. You’re a fool._

Will tossed onto his side to shake off his circling thoughts.

_He is more than murder. You saw the raw need in those bottomless eyes. He was not lying. He wants you. You’re both alone._

_Maybe. He’s still going to eat you though. He’s a spider and you’re sleeping one string away from him, stupidly reveling in these 1000 thread count sheets while he’s thinking up recipes._

_Shut up._

_Fuck. There is almost certainly a kill room somewhere in this place. Did you hear that? YOU ARE SLEEPING IN A HOUSE WITH A KILL ROOM!_

_You didn’t have time to find it. It’s probably near the kitchen, for obvious reasons._

_Yes. Below. In the basement, stupid._

_Ugh. Of course there’s a basement. It’s probably as big as the entire footprint of this house. Jesus Christ. It’s Dr. H. H. Holmes all over again. Whatever you do, don’t get yourself down there._

_Stop this. Stop ruminating. You’ve killed too. You killed tonight. You’re probably going to kill again._

_God dammit…You know you will._

_Graaa-haaam,_ his inner voice taunted. _Hannibal has always been right about you._

_H_ _e sees through all your masks. You_ like _it. You’ve always liked it. Torturing a squirrel behind the schoolhouse so your buddies could see its insides? Killing tonight reminded you of that first pleasure. Fucking sicko._

_You’re not. You’re just…You were a stupid kid. It was a mistake._

_Why did you have to think of that?!_

_No, Graham. You’re a killer and you know it. You deserve him. You deserve each other. You deserve to be finally free and cared for by someone who understands you._

Will flopped again and audibly groaned. Jesus his life was messed up. He got up and plodded into the en suite bathroom to take a leak. Thumbing down his waistband, the sight of his heavy dick reminded him of the low-key arousal he’d felt since he’d arrived. The moment Hannibal blushed at him when he walked in. How he touched him. How he looked at him as though there was no one else in the universe. His suggestive teasing. Everything Hannibal did possessed an innate sensuality. He was the consummate epicurean, after all.

His cock twitched and he decided, screw it. He was going to jack off and get rid of some of this tension, then he’d stop this manic thinking and fall sleep. Leaning against the toilet tank, he stroked himself and quickly worked his cock into a leaking mess, trying to conjure up something sexy to think about.

_Hannibal,_ his mind supplied, unbidden. 

His hand worked harder and his breath came in shaky rasps. 

_Hannibal across the hall. Doing the same thing. Thinking of him. Stroking himself just as frantically. Gasping harsh moans that he could hear._

Will accidentally let out a sound. He bit his lips to silence himself.

_Hannibal taking him like those pictures next to his bed. In a montsuki kimono. Pulling him down onto his lap. Pushing him down onto his..._

“Oh, fuck,” he said through clenched teeth and came in powerful spurts that splashed into the bowl. He stood there panting, head hung, startled that he had orgasmed harder than he had in ages. 

Washing his hands in the sink, he stared at himself in the mirror. His cheeks were flushed, still hot with erotic imagery that was all but entirely new to him. He had daydreamed about Hannibal, of course, imagined scenarios, usually involving his desk. Who hadn't, probably? But those were just enticing thoughts. He hadn't acted on them. He'd occasionally think of him while having a quick morning tug, but that was just a fleeting blank thought among random things like needing to file his time card and what was that actresses name with the great breasts. This was...different. Hannibal was down the hall. Will was in his house and had spent all evening with him. Half of that fantasy was informed by his present reality.

A cold realization set in. He wanted Hannibal more than he wanted to lose him. He wanted so much more time with him, to continue their conversations, to discover him. To be discovered by him. He would never have another chance in his lifetime to have whatever this was.

He was going to have to devise a way to deal with Jack. Mighty Jack Crawford was the god he would have to topple.

 

<> 

It was already past nine when Will tiptoed down the stairwell, bed-headed and crinkle-eyed. The smell from the kitchen was amazing and there were pots and prep bowls scattered everywhere. Peeking into dining room, he found Hannibal in a sweater and his pajama pants setting out the last of what was an enormous spread.

“Good morning, Will,” he said. “I hope you were able to sleep.”

For a dreadful moment Will thought he must have heard him– but no, Will was being paranoid and these were just pleasantries. “Morning. Wow. This is…Do you always eat like this?”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Better to indulge now than find yourself ravenous by midday.”

Will took a seat and Hannibal poured him a cup of coffee from a carafe.

“Oh my god, is that…?”

“Chicory coffee for the Louisianan at the table.”

Will sighed gratefully. “Where did you even find this? It’s freshly ground!” The aroma and taste reminded him of humid bayou air and fishing for snook in hidden, meandering creeks.

Then there was the food. So much food. Piles of exotic fruits, at least a dozen mini egg soufflés of different varieties, a tray of dubious sausages that he had no intention of eating, and a covered dish. Hannibal took off the lid with an expectant smile.

“NO!” Will cried.

“Fresh beignets with brandy and powdered sugar.”

Will didn’t even bother setting one on his plate. It went straight into his mouth and melted into fried doughy goodness. He made an obscene sound that raised Hannibal’s eyebrows.

“Well if that’s the reaction I’ll have to make these more often.”

“Sorry. It’s just, I haven’t had these since I was a kid. They're fantastic. You’d shut down Café du Monde if you ever wanted to start a business.”

“Enjoy, Will, before it gets cold,” he said, clearly preening at the compliments.

 

They dawdled, stretching out the breakfast well beyond what was reasonable. Neither wanted to face the inevitable fact that they would have to part and face the world at some point.

“Have you decided how you’ll honor your debt to Randall?”

“Yes,” Will said between bites. “I know it’s not exactly table discussion, but you don’t by any chance still have some of your old surgical tools. A bone saw, maybe?”

Hannibal’s mouth ticked up in a faint smile. “Let me look through my old medical bag and see if anything useful is still laying around.”

“Of course.” Old and laying around his ass. Hannibal probably wore bone saws out faster than the city morgue.

 

In the foyer, Hannibal gave him a small nondescript bag. It was heavy.

“They are entirely sanitized, but not sterile. Not that it matters to Randall now.”

“I’ll ensure they are returned to you as I got them - without any trace evidence.”

They smiled at the charade, still talking circles around what they both knew: Will Graham was borrowing the trade tools of the Chesapeake Ripper.

Will wasn’t sure how to say goodbye and the moment protracted. Hannibal suavely rescued it by drawing Will’s hand to his lips and pressing ever so slightly against his bandaged knuckles. It was a brush almost too light to be called a kiss. “Be careful,” he said.

Will touched his cheek, then dared to run a thumb over his sensuous lips. He’d wondered how they felt for quite a while now. “I’m sure we’ll see each other soon. Shall we carpool tomorrow morning? I have a sneaking suspicion we’ll both be called in for an investigation.”

“I’d be happy to drive.”

“Excellent.”

Will took another long look at Hannibal, then jogged down the front steps to his car, toolkit in hand.

 

<> 

 

On Thursday morning, the Baltimore Natural History Museum was shut to the public. Police milled around outside, cuddling cups of gas store coffee to keep warm. The officers were chortling and staring at the car that just pulled in. Will flashed his FBI badge and they let him and Hannibal through, too distracted by the Bentley to ask if Will’s partner had appropriate ID. These sorts of careless mistakes were exactly why the local PD were outside in 20 degree weather and the big kids at the Bureau were inside doing the actual crime work.

In the lobby, Will heard Hannibal’s breath hitch behind him as the horrific sight came into view. Will had built Tier a monument, at last making him into the thing he truly wanted to become. He was now an unthinking prehistoric beast, complete with eight inch saber-tooth canines.

“Where the hell have you two been? I called an _hour_ ago!” Jack barked at them from afar.

“Morning to you too, Jack. What have we got?”

Jack paused, doing a double-take when the pair reached the crime scene tape line.

 Ever mischievous, Hannibal had changed into a grey tweed coat and red scarf and tie after Will arrived at his house that morning. The ensemble mirrored Will’s coat of the same matching fabric and he wore his scarf in the same fashion. The reds around Hannibal’s neck highlighted the pop of red undershirt visible at Will’s color. They were identically different.

“Is this some kind of…You know what? I don’t give two shits and a rolling nickle. I don't have time for your weird bullshit. I’ve got a backlog of cases and a sick wife to worry about. Get to work. Now!”

Will rolled his eyes and snapped on his gloves.  

Hannibal made the first intervention, offering a patently wrong interpretation of the evidence. Will appreciated his willingness to help create a narrative, but he was going to go a different route. He proceeded to give the same half-truths that Hannibal had provided when looking at his own deeds. Hannibal circled around the articulated tiger, eyes fixed, memorizing the details of Will’s creation. Will was getting antsy to get his part over with. He let himself fall into his empathic vision in front of the whole crew, not requesting they leave. Then Hannibal couldn’t stop staring at him. Jack eventually noticed and gave Hannibal a funny look, to which Hannibal shook his head, as if they should not disturb Will’s reconstruction.

Afterwards, in the parking lot, Hannibal and Will puffed plumes of white breath into the air, standing a little too close for work partners. Will was shivering against the wind, coat and scarf still undone. Uncaring of the gawking BPD officers, Hannibal reached out and looped Will’s scarf, bringing the other end through the loop to form a cris-crossed four-in-hand knot. The trendy European style was positively dashing on him. Will looked down at it in surprise and tucked the end bits into his jacket and smiled sheepishly.

"I have an appointment with Freddy Lounds,” Will said. “If you can drop me off near her place, I can get a taxi back and get my car.”

“I have appointments today as well. And I need to talk with Alana tonight, as we discussed.”

Will swallowed and toed the gravelly pavement with his boot. “Will you…um, nevermind.” Of course he would. There was always breakup sex. That was the gentlemanly thing to do, and Hannibal was nothing if not unfailingly polite. Will had no right to be jealous. Not really. Not yet.

Hannibal gazed at him curiously. “Would you care to join me for dinner Friday evening?”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

 

<>

 

The problem with an exceptional imagination is that it doesn’t turn off. Ever. Were Hannibal and Alana talking frankly at the dinner table, Alana with a tissue in hand? Were they on the same couch in the den, Hannibal biding his time with pleasantries before breaking the news?

No. Will knew they were twisting in grey sheets, sweating and coupling, sampling salty sweet skin for the final time. They were those kind of stoic, composed adults who did not give apologies or feel surprise at the end of an affair. Will didn’t understand that kind of attitude, but maybe that’s because he’d had so few.

He was well on his way to getting admirably drunk when he heard the screen door creak open. There stood Margot Verger, hair done to model perfection, jiggling a handle of bourbon. He had locked the dogs in the back room so they didn’t have to witness him getting shitfaced. It stressed them out. Now they were barking like madmen at the unseen intruder.

“Well this should be interesting,” he muttered under his breath and let her in.

He appreciated Margot’s approach in life. She was frank and got straight to the point. She had come to get Will drunk and have sex. He had a head start on the former, but he couldn’t fathom why she was after the latter. He wasn’t a lesbian. But there was real need and desire in her eyes. He stopped her from undoing his shirt and focused on the wall clock to be certain he wasn’t misreading her. Nope. He was feeling hesitant and thinking about someone else and she had him nearly pushed up against a dresser with heat in her eyes. The richest lesbian in the land had driven all the way down to his crappy house in the woods for his cock. Somebody might as well be getting it. Hannibal was certainly having his fun. Fuck it. He decided to give her what she wanted, devil may care.

He let Margot have free reign, guiding him how she wanted him and exploring him in turn, not without several funny inexperienced mishaps. He was happy enough to give her more than a few toe-curling, sheet-grabbing orgasms on his creaky box spring in the living room, but not for one second was he truly present. His mind was with Hannibal and Alana, and Alana having Hannibal. He could nearly feel the rolling and gasping, so much so that he and Margot’s own entangled bodies were theirs and he was lost in that other bedroom, far away. 

When he thought of the darkness in Hannibal, the way his searing other-worldliness filled him so deeply and completely, Will’s orgasm came hard and sudden. He didn’t have time to pull out. Collapsing in a sweaty pile, he kissed Margot’s neck in apology. “I’m so sorry about that. I got lost in the moment. Do I…should we…”

Margot was perfectly calm. “Don’t worry. It was fun. Fascinating to experience your…parts. You’d make a great lesbian - at least from the neck up. Thank you.”

Will laughed. “You’re welcome. I guess. That’s one of the more memorable comments I’ve received in bed.”

Dawn had not yet broken when Margot got dressed. She left without saying goodbye, before Will could even make her coffee.

 

<> 

 

Will had never bothered to consult with a sommelier about wine before, but this was not an everyday purchase. Inside what an online search promised to be the best wine seller in Baltimore, the man helping him pulled out what he believed would appease even the most discerning of palates. Will turned the bottle in his hands, inspecting it warily. “You don’t by any chance ever get a buyer in here named Dr. Hannibal Lecter, do you? This is for him.” The sommelier blanched in horror and snatched the bottle right out of Will’s hands. “This is swill. Total garbage. No, no, no, Monsieur, this will not do. We’ll go to the back. We don’t put the _real_ stuff on the floor room shelves. Come. _Je vous en prie_ , please, this way.”  

In the store room the man fussed and contemplated and fussed some more, examining the rows of little handwritten labels on the wooden racks of merchandise. “Um, I don’t have Dr. Lecter’s budget. Just something excellent but still economical will do,” Will said, dizzied by the sheer volume of options - and the number of zeros after some of the vintages' price tags. 

“Certainly, Monsieur. Yes, yes. I have just the thing. I believe he was considering this a few weeks ago, but decided he needed a Côte d’Or instead. Ah, yes. Here we are.”

The price tag was hefty, but what did Will ever spend his money on? He shrugged and shelled out nearly $200 for the bottle. The sommelier wrapped it in a simple jute bag with the store’s label in black and tied a tidy black satin ribbon around the neck.

Will arrived early and found a parking spot a half block away from Chandler Square. He fidgeted in the car, trying to give some order to his hair in the rear view mirror. And damn. The newer tie he’d put on looked stupid with his faded shirt. He tugged it off and undid two buttons of his collar. “Oh for god’s sake. Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered to himself and re-buttoned one of them. He had never bothered so much with his appearance as he had in the past few months. What had started in earnest to entrap Hannibal had become a different kind of attempt to capture him. At some point he should really do something about his half-dead wardrobe. Will was about to get out of the car and head down the block when his phone buzzed with a text. It was from Hannibal.

_Apologies for the last minute notice, but it appears Alana would like to join us and I could find no gracious way to tell her no. She seems quite agitated and I’m certain it has nothing to do with yesterday, which was an amicable parting. Perhaps you’ll be able to parse the situation for me when you arrive? I’m rather at a loss to explain her sudden rudeness. -H_

Will groaned and stuffed the phone back into his pocket.

When Hannibal ushered Will through the door, Will slipped the bottle of wine into Hannibal’s hand, keeping it close between them. “Don’t open that tonight. I didn’t intend to share it with anyone else.” Hannibal glanced at the bag and the foil on the cork and bit his bottom lip. “How thoughtful, Will. I’ll put it aside discretely.”

“Thanks. Where’s the party?”

“Kitchen.”

“Great. This won’t be awkward at all.”

“We’ll enjoy ourselves regardless, I’m sure.”

Of course it was brutally awkward - for he and Alana, at least.

Alana stared daggers at Will through the entire apératif and entrée courses. By the time Hannibal rolled out the main dish, she began making flagrant accusations. Apparently, Freddy god damn Lounds had gone to her and stirred things up, spouting the same theories that she’d needled him with the day before. Hannibal watched the disaster unfold with thinly veiled amusement and ate without interrupting much. Will nudged his leg under the table and gave him a look.

“Freddy isn’t the only one without boundaries. Your relationship doesn’t seem to know many,” said Alana. “It’s just hard to know where you are with each other.”

And that was the point at which Will was done with this nonsense. Who was she to talk about boundaries, she who loved to determine them for everyone else? To judge everyone else for what she didn’t understand? His slight annoyance with Hannibal evaporated and he focused his growing fury at Alana. It was one thing to be concerned about her friends and invite herself over with well-meaning intentions. But openly questioning her host and his guest – and their relationship? At _this_ table. _This_ table of all tables? He was half-tempted to tell her what he’d served up on it the other night and why this evening he was avoiding the boudin blanc sausages included with the roasted suckling pig.

It was a positively bitchy comment to make and unluckily for Alana, Will could do a high caliber bitchy right back. He smiled sweetly. “We know where we are with each other. Shouldn’t that be enough?” Alana’s face fell. Hannibal looked between them now, beyond entertained by Will’s defiance and Alana’s chagrin. Will gave him another kick, this time harder. Hannibal merely sipped his wine and offered to pass around the cheese course.

When the entire nightmare was through and Hannibal finally moved to escort Alana out, Will lingered in the foyer and made an excuse about helping with the dishes.

“Goodnight, Alana. Drive safe,” Will said and shut the door behind her just a little too hard.

At the sink, Hannibal washed the china while Will dried. His aggressive toweling of the plates was childish, but perhaps that was the point. “Do you want to tell me why you’re polishing the platinum off those or shall I venture a guess?”

“Hannibal,” he turned and set the dish down. “Please don’t ever put me in that kind of situation again. I can’t even believe I’m only saying that now – after every other fucked up situation you've put me in. But there’s the insanity between us and there is inflicting it on others. It would have been kinder to Alana and better for me if you had told me not to come and made my excuses.”

“Alana wanted to put you in this situation, not me. She insisted. I told her I was having you for dinner.”

“Let’s stick with ‘having me _over_ for dinner’ okay?” Will ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “Social pressures like that…that wasn’t playing fair.”

“You wanted me to protect you.”

Will slumped against the counter.

“Come here.”

“What.”

Hannibal wiped his hands on a dishtowel. “Come here.” Will took a tentative step forward. “What?” he asked again, this time laughing.

In a movement nearly too fast to see, Hannibal popped him on the hip with the wet towel. “Get over here!” He grabbed Will’s damp wrist and pulled him into his arms. Will was suddenly enveloped in Hannibal’s warmth and scent and chest. He was tense for a moment, then relaxed, settling his head against Hannibal’s tie.

“Better?”

“Maybe.”

Hannibal cradled his head and rested his cheek against it. “Better now?”

Will’s arms curled around Hannibal’s back. He pulled back to look at him. His life had done another 180 within days. At least this time it was exhilarating.

Will leaned up to meet his lips and Hannibal pulled back. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Are you going to try to stop me?”

Hannibal couldn’t quite master the quiver of a smile on his face. “Maybe.”

“Liar.” Will tried to kiss him again and again Hannibal dodged him.

“Tricky.”

“Very,” Hannibal replied, his accent noticeably thicker.

Will slid a hand up to Hannibal’s neck and simultaneously reached down and squeezed his bum. It induced the desired reflex: Hannibal lurched forward in surprise.

“Gotcha.”

Hannibal closed his eyes and inhaled the face pressed against his. Will nuzzled his nose and cheek and heard Hannibal’s breathing pick up. “Still going to tell me to stop?”

Eyes half-lidded, lips slightly apart, Hannibal could only give a slight shake of the hand and grab a fistful of Will’s hair.

“Tell me to kiss you.”

Hannibal bit his lip.

“Tell me, Hannibal.”

It was almost inaudible. It may not have even been English. “Kiss me, Will.”

Will brushed his lips against Hannibal’s, teasing a little by pulling back, then starting to move in closer. Feather light touches at the precipice of a true kiss. He could sense Hannibal's composure slipping. Will took a light lick, just to test, and felt him make strained breath that would otherwise have been growl. He licked and bit his upper lip and Hannibal snapped. He crushed his mouth against Will’s, devouring the depths of him. The first pass of tongues, Will’s knees went weak. The second had them moaning and clasping each other. The hunger for this sparking pleasure, for more of it, for it to never stop, was immediate. Hannibal spun Will around and pressed him back against the stove. They were desperate for this. My god, how long had they let this simmer into something dangerously close to boiling over? There was little restraint and no control over the sharp keening sounds they were making. It grew more frantic and Will’s ass must have pressed against a stove knob because one of the gas burner’s starters began to click. Blindly Hannibal grabbed it off and sent Will crashing against the fridge. He caught him by the wrists and locked them over his head, pressing his body against Will’s, dominating him completely. Will’s head fell back and he cried out as Hannibal bit and sucked his way down his neck. Hannibal was far too clothed. He was practically covered head to toe in his suit of modern armor. Will needed to feel more skin, somewhere, anywhere. He scrambled at Hannibal’s waistline but the damned waistcoat kept him from gaining purchase on anything resembling a shirt.

Hannibal pulled away, still caging him with his arms. He was panting raggedly with a completely wild look in his eyes, the amber flashing pinpoints of crimson. “What on earth are you doing to me?”

Will wrapped his fingers around Hannibal’s tie and pulled him within an inch of his mouth. “Unleashing you,” he whispered.

Hannibal swallowed hard, trying to find some ounce of composure. “Upstairs. Now.”

Dirty dishes were still in the sink. Not a pan had been set to soak.

Hannibal practically dragged Will up the stairs, still kissing him and peeling off Will’s coat, flinging it down the stairwell. He flicked open Will’s shirt buttons, one for every rung of steps. For a man who might literally eat him alive, he sure seemed to be fast on his way to being completely unhinged.

“Hannibal.” Will stopped him on the landing. “Hann,” he had to repeat again to get his full attention. “I want to savor this. Let’s slow down. Not too fast. Not too far.”

Hannibal gave him a wolfish grin. “Of course, _širdelė_.” For a moment Will thought he was going to give in that easily. Then Hannibal swooped him off his feet and carried him into the master bedroom, his legs kicking uselessly in the air. He went to toss him onto the bed but Will’s tenacious arms locked onto him and he ended crashing them both down with a bounce.

“Now, before you get anything else from me, I want to know why _my_ mongoose smells vaguely like Margot Verger’s perfume.”

Will quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll tell you if you tell me two things.”

“Not a fair trade, but I’m willing to play, within reason.”

“Did you change the sheets this morning?”

“Yes, of course.”

Will snuck his hand down between them and grabbed the hard length in Hannibal’s trousers. “And did she make you this hard?”

“Don’t be crude.”

Will waited for an answer. He relented with a huff. “Not even close. Never.”

“Very well. I was plastered, moping about exactly what was happening in this bed last night, when Margot Verger came and attacked me with a second handle of bourbon and demanded sex.”

“A fascinating request, given her preferences. Did you get your revenge on me?”

Will grinned. “Not even close.”

Hannibal closed in and gave him the slowest, most intoxicating kiss Will had ever experienced.

“Can you keep doing that until it’s so late we can’t keep our eyes open?”

“Happily,” Hannibal said and moved in for another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saldžių sapnų = sweet dreams  
> širdelė = darling, sweetheart
> 
> Short little fic, she says. Couple of chapters, she says....12,000 words later...I've given up on guessing on chapter length. It's going to be a few more and I'm going to range into Ko No Mono territory. Tags reflect the changes. I hope you've been enjoying the updates. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and please leave a comment! They really mean the world to me and keep me writing (cough) 6000 words a day (cough) I probably need a life (snort) yeah no Hannigram is my self-care right now...Love to you all!


End file.
